Our Enemy Flicka

Written by Ken Carman

The detective could hear her over sized Playboy Bunny slippers softly slap their way to answering the doorbell he had just rung. The door opened and he was face to face with a barely clothed woman: full figured in a way that was popular in films many years before his TV set dominated earlier days… back when he himself was a big star.

“Ma’am, could you please go put on some clothes and I’ll wait here? I would like to keep this professional.”

She smiled seductively. The detective wondered if she knew how to smile any other way…

“I’m sorry, this is all I own, really. I’m a well kept woman, officer, my husband even put it in his will; as long as I never left the house, my every wish would be provided for, so I rarely get out. It’s pretty lonely. Would you like to come in?”

“‘Detective,’ Ma’am, and I would like to just stick to…”

“Wait, don’t I know you from somewhere? I think you’ve been on TV or something.”

He sighed and repeated, “Ma’am, I would like to just stick to…”

“Well, if you’re not going to come in, this is getting cold, tell me what you’re here for…”

“Yes, Ma’am, we’re looking for your husband.”

“Well, yesterday one of your detectives came to my door he did come in…” she smiled as if remembering something fondly… “and he told me there had been an accident they were investigating where my husband’s head had been torn off.” She smiled again, seductively. “But it seems you’d know about all this, being a detective and all.”

His lips twitched a little and his demeanor turned even more stern than very formal and serious; never crack the slightest smile, attitude that, if poured, would be like dumping used motor oil over an ice cream sundae.

“Different department, Ma’am, but let’s just stick with the facts.”

“How could that be? Aren’t you both detectives?” …she asked herself silently.

“Look, Detective, ours was mostly a loveless arrangement. He was a horn dog, I’ll admit that, and if you’re so interested in ‘facts,’ Detective,’ I’m glad he’s gone. I just discovered an old movie reel; he was apparently out ‘editing’ the other. Oh, how he loved the old ‘flickas,’ as he used to call them. Then I found a lot of pictures of women dressed up like old movie stars. I know he would have claimed they were trying out for some role but I went on the net and found out that “Flicka” was actually a horse. Knowing him he was ‘auditioning’ them for some porno flick involving a horse. Take it from me, Detective, he was that ‘out there.’ And he did like to use old movie equipment to make ‘movies’ of us when we were, um… intimate.”

She smiled that seductive smile, only with more than an extra dash of “seduct.”

“We know all that, Ma’am. We’re here to ask him where he put the second roll of film so we can find out what’s going to happen.”

“Well, I had some very sexy young man go out and burn everything like that after we, um… uh, well, it’s gone.”

“That’s very unfortunate, Ma’am, we really needed to know what was on the second roll so we know how to defeat…”

“Why, Detective, do you need the second roll? I’d never guess you might be such a horn dog too by your serious attitude.”

“Ma’am, we’re not looking for porno. Your husband had his film ‘blessed’ by a witch doctor who found out your husband had just had relations with his very young daughter… so he hexed it instead.”

“Wait, he wasn’t making porno?”

“No, Ma’am.”

There were some screams in the background that seemed to be getting closer.

“What was he making Detective… Detective…”

“‘Friday,’ Ma’am.”

There were some screams in the background that seemed to be getting closer.

“You’re kidding, right? ‘Friday?'”

“No. Ma’am, I’m not ‘kidding,’ and he was filming a monster film with every monster ever imagined, and with look-a-likes, and act-a-likes, of old stars; both TV shows and movies.

The screams were getting louder and louder.

“And the hex…”

“Yes, Ma’am, your husband was murdered by a werewolf.”

Just then fire shot around the corner coming from something as high as the building.

“And that…”

“That, Ma’am, is Godzilla, and he is only one of thousands that came alive. I’m sure even ‘My Friend Flicka‘ is out there somewhere, but the process drove the animals and monsters insane. So he’s no “friend;’ probably trampling a citizen right now. The hex was pretty complete. Fiction became fact. So Ironsides, Kojack, Perry Mason… even Mike Hammer are out there somewhere trying to solve this. So, Ma’am…”

“Yes, Detective?”

Screams getting very, very loud; the sounds of flesh being burned, ripped, shredded… and the disturbing sound of some huge bug-like creature eating something.